I'm Going to Celebrity Rehab

These damn celebrities are popping up everywhere like Kardashians or Lindsay Lohan mugshots and I'm falling farther and farther behind trying to come up with witty banter about people I really couldn't give a shit about, so we're going to play a little game of catch up and then fine tune this bitch into something about people I care about.  I mean, what's there to say about Diedre Hall, except that she should lay off the botox

or James Spader, forever typecast as the sleazy, creeper bad guy freak that makes your skin crawl

or Andre Agassi, who I first met my freshman year of college, before either of us lost our hair, tried meth or met Brooke Shields.

And where do I go with this picture of Parker Posey, who hasn't been seen, heard from or relevant since the 90's,

Jeff Goldblum, whose career I still can't figure out,

or Dana Delaney, who was in Desperate Housewives in the boring middle years when not even Nicollette Sheridan as Edie Britt could keep me watching.

Do you see where I'm going here?  I mean, I STRUGGLE to make someone like Danica Patrick interesting,

and since I never got into Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the only interesting thing I can say about Sarah Michelle Gellar is that I'd rather see her husband Freddie Prinze, Jr.  Naked.

I'm not one of those inherently funny people like Robin Williams

or Rebel Wilson

who can make funny shit out of shit.  This is WORK people!  And I'm exhausted. But not in that Mariah Carey ice cream cart striptease/Britney Spears shaved head way.

So going forward I'm going to focus on the people I really care about, and less on the people that are just out whoring their latest project, which means less whatevers and more WOWs.  More Real Housewives and less blurry Tiffani-Amber Theissens.

And no Julianne Moore.  Ever.